I'm dangling from the edge of a cliff,
with each second my fingers slip. My stitched
up mouth feels like cotton and my tired eyes
look below me, it's a long drop, but I remain
here, clutching the edge with my pruned
fingers and dirty nails.
I'm exhausted, but sleep does not occur, I've
too much to do.
I remain dangling on the edge of this cliffside,
my hair is a greasy mess, but my well-being
does not concern me, so I remain dangling,
dangling, dangling.